


Lost Mail, Found Love

by sirona



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-19
Updated: 2010-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/pseuds/sirona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Mail, Found Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hd_smoochfest (which should tell you volumes as to the content) last year. Thank you so much to nicevenn for betaing this! I’ve made some changes, so any mistakes are my own. I don’t know anything about the inner workings of the Royal Mail – I claim artistic licence!
> 
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

Harry walks sedately through the door of Salisbury’s High Street Post Office branch, trying not to trip over his own feet as, just like last time, he can’t help but crane his neck to the left to take in the view of Salisbury Cathedral’s tall spires rising above the city streets. He remembers fondly the sunny Saturday last week when he and Teddy had frolicked around the Wiltshire County countryside in Harry’s green Volkswagen Golf, stopping here and there to sample the beautiful vistas, or take a break from the heat in the nearest picturesque village’s pub for a cool-down drink of Coke. Finally they had made it down to that day’s destination – Stonehenge. They had spent half an hour walking around the roped-off perimeter and listening to the guides explaining the history and significance of the site, while Harry went on to _sotto voce_ add the Wizarding history to supplement the Muggle one for Teddy’s educational benefit.

Harry loves the excursions that he and Teddy had devised as a way to spend quality time together and enjoy each other’s company, while still adhering to the strict learning programme that Aunt Andromeda had drawn up for her grandson. Stonehenge was permissible, but only if the boys then went to visit Salisbury Cathedral and learn the history behind that, too. Harry had only been too happy to comply – he had wanted to visit it for many years, ever since he had caught a BBC documentary about it on telly while the Dursleys had been away for the weekend. So after Teddy had finished buying souvenirs and postcards from the Stonehenge gift shop (where the prices had made Harry’s eyes water), Harry had scooped him back in the car and taken them to the famous Cathedral.

They had both enjoyed their visit immensely, learning about the architecture of the place and how it had been built. So much so, that Teddy had emerged with a new fascination with all things Muggle, an interest that Harry had happily encouraged. Smitten, Teddy had spotted the nearby Post Office on their way back to the car and had insisted that they send a postcard to Grandma Andromeda via Muggle mail. _What harm could it do?_ Harry had thought, and had agreed with a smile. Teddy had spent fifteen minutes thinking of a message and scrawling it untidily across the back of the postcard. In the one clear corner that was left, he had drawn a little stick figure of Harry and an even smaller one of himself holding hands with him. Very happy with his masterpiece, Teddy had proudly presented it to Harry, who had affixed a stamp to the top right corner and lifted Teddy so that he could hand it over to the smiling but distracted lady at the counter. She had absentmindedly stamped it and put it in a box with lots of other similar postcards. Teddy had been happy as a bunny; it had made Harry proud to see him embrace the Muggle culture with no hesitation, much like Teddy’s late parents had.

That had been five days ago and the card had still not arrived at Andromeda’s. Teddy was making himself miserable thinking that it had been lost and that his Gran wouldn’t get it through the Muggle Post after all. That is something Harry cannot stand; hence, here he is, back at the same Post Office, hoping to find out what had happened to it. He isn’t too optimistic – there must be thousands of letters and postcards that pass through this place, who on Earth would remember theirs? But he has to try, even more so because last night he had had a flash memory of the event. He saw himself lift Teddy, saw the distracted Post Office clerk stamp the postcard and put it in a tray, but he did not see himself putting down an address on it apart from Teddy’s scrawled _“Gramma Andi”_ on the back. So maybe it’s been sent back here, because of the branch stamp? He could only hope, since he knows next to nothing about what goes on in a Post Office beyond the front counter.

He pulls the inner door open and enters the large, cool room – it’s much nicer in here than out in the stiflingly hot July air. Go figure – last year the summer had been non-existent; this year they were getting baked alive. He looks around with interest. There are far fewer people here than last time; he supposes Saturdays are not conductive to peace and calm in a busy Post Office branch close to such a major tourist attraction. Plus he has made sure to come in past 3pm, when things start winding down for the day. Joining one of the short queues, he twists his hands together nervously, praying that the card is here. Teddy would be heartbroken if it was lost; worse, he may never trust a Muggle service again, which is not a nice lesson to learn at such a young and impressionable age.

He cranes his neck again, this time looking towards the counter before him. The lady from last week is nowhere to be seen, but there is a rather attractive clerk behind the counter, currently bending over to put a parcel away in the half-full crate behind his chair. Harry admires the strong, lithe line of the man’s curved back, enjoying the play of muscles underneath his light blue uniform shirt. His arse, high in the air, is a joy to behold – lovely, firm cheeks shifting into strong thighs below them – Harry suppresses a shudder. He is being none-too-subtle in his ogling and can only hope that the gorgeous man doesn’t call him on it.

There are now only two people in front of Harry, and suddenly the danger that he may lose focus and just stare at the bloke is very real, because the man who turns back to face the counter, and incidentally Harry, is none other than Draco Malfoy.

Harry hasn’t seen Malfoy for some time – it’s been five or six months since the last party Hermione had thrown, the one where Ron and Pansy had finally succumbed to the prodding from all of their friends and had last been seen getting on like a house on fire – which is to say, a lot of screaming and huffing and rising of temperatures had ensued. Harry had teased Ron for _months_ afterwards for joining the newly-popular Gryffindor-Slytherin-couples club right behind Hermione and Blaise Zabini, and Neville and Daphne Greengrass.

The truth is, however, that Harry very much wants to join that same club, and standing before him is the reason why. He wonders how he missed the fact that the arse that he has been drooling over for years is the same one he was just now appreciating. He supposes he never imagined he would see Draco in such a setting as this, even if he is aware of the ten-year probation programme that dictates that Draco Malfoy should spend three months of every year working in a Muggle business establishment so as to learn to understand Muggles better – it is a small punishment, and Draco bears it well. It’s just that … so far Harry has known Draco to work in a bookshop, as a retail consultant in a posh designer wear studio, at a jewellery store, at an Italian shoe retailer, at a pet store, and now _the Post Office_? It breaks from the pattern somewhat. And yes, Harry is also aware that some might consider the fact that he knows where Draco Malfoy has worked every single summer slightly disturbing, but it’s not as if he’s been stalking him! He just … happens to talk to Hermione rather frequently, and has to listen to her grumble about Blaise moaning about Draco’s latest Muggle profession. Anyway, that’s his story and he’s sticking to it.

It’s his turn at the front of the queue, which has by now dispersed, so he’s almost alone in the room with Draco if he discounts three or four other customers and two more clerks. He smiles at Draco sheepishly.

“Hello, Dr— _Malfoy_!” To his horror, he stammers. Draco is looking at him, obviously amused if the raised eyebrow and the quirk of the corner of his mouth is anything to go by.

“Potter. Fancy seeing you here. But then I do tend to see you at most of my summer workplaces, don’t I?”

Harry flushes, feeling caught out. “Er … is that right,” he manages weekly. Draco’s smirk intensifies.

Grasping at straws now, Harry’s brain-to-mouth filter decides to give up spirit and promptly fails altogether.

“What are you doing here of all places?” The question stumbles out without his permission.

“Working,” Draco drawls in his dripping-honey voice.

“Yes, thanks for that,” Harry snarks, feeling awkward. “At the _Post Office_ , though?”

Draco shrugs, smirk softening into something more genuine, if a little awkward, as if he’s worried what Harry might make of it. “I was bored. I thought it might be interesting to learn about how the cogwheels turn behind one of the Muggles’ national institutions.”

“You sound like Teddy, always wanting to know ‘why’ things are the way they are. He is turning into quite the Muggle connoisseur himself, you know,” Harry brags, proud as if it’s his own child he’s talking about, which for all intents and purposes Teddy is.

Draco brightens at the mention of his cousin. “Is he now? Merlin, it’s been ages since I’ve seen him. Aunt Andromeda hasn’t been by for weeks! I must remind Mother to invite her to tea this weekend, I’m sure she misses her.”

Since Andromeda and Narcissa had healed the rift between them, practically on the very day the war ended, when Narcissa had held her sister while she had wept over her daughter’s lifeless body, Harry knows that the sisters see each other as often as they can manage. Harry wistfully wishes _he_ would be invited to visit, along with Andromeda and Teddy, but knows there is no reason for him to be included in the family party.

“How _is_ your Mum?” Harry asks, genuinely interested.

Draco’s face shutters closed. “She’s better, thank you,” he says, sounding as if he’s forcing the words out. “The Healer says she really is out of the woods this time—“ he stumbles to a stop when Harry makes a concerned noise.

“She’s been ill? I had no idea, Andromeda never said anything…”

Draco makes a face, startling Harry with how open he looks in that moment. “PTSD, I believe, is the acronym the Healer used. She’s been having nightmares and panic attacks for the past three years, which is strange, because it didn’t present for a couple of years after the war—look, Potter, I’d rather not talk about this at work. Was there something in particular you came here for?” he demands, looking embarrassed with his rambling.

It takes Harry a minute to switch speeds. “O-oh, yeah, there is!”

He explains about the lost postcard. Draco’s face goes from pinched back to amiable as he gets it. He chuckles at Harry’s exaggerated impression of Teddy’s grief and motions him to wait for a moment before going in the back area. Minutes later he’s back, the precious postcard held up between two long, graceful fingers.

“Is this what all the fuss is about?”

At Harry’s relieved nod, he snorts. “Potter you idiot. See this bit here? This is where the _address_ goes. This isn’t owl post,” he murmurs under his breath as he hands the postcard over to a flushing Harry, who quickly fills in Andromeda’s proper address before handing it back to Draco. Draco affixes a new post stamp on it and taps it with the branch’s ink stamp.

“There. Sent first class this afternoon, should arrive bright and early tomorrow morning.” Harry watches him turn and pop the card in the postbag ready to be taken away by the van in half an hour. Against his will, Harry’s eyes slide down Draco’s tall frame yet again, unable to resist when he is so close to him.

Draco’s sharp turn startles him and he looks up quickly to his face. Not quickly enough, however.

“Are you checking out my arse? You've been checking out my arse, haven’t you?

Well and truly caught this time, Harry still tries to deny the obvious.

“What? No! I have no idea what you're talking about. Definitely not!”

“Oh, pity.” Draco looks disappointed.

Suddenly, Harry would much rather Draco didn’t pay any attention to his token denials, not when he’s looking at him like that, intent and considering and—

“Can I buy you a coffee after work?” The words rush out of his mouth before he can stop them. Evidently, his brain-to-mouth filter is still down for the count.

Draco’s expression shifts to pleased. He preens a little, then purrs, “That would be delightful, Harry. I may call you Harry, yes?”

Harry’s heart pounds frantically in his chest. They have never been on a first-name basis, what with their shared history and Draco’s constant abuse of his surname. Harry wonders what has shifted; the moment feels like the start of something brand new, and Harry seizes it with both hands, smiling into Draco’s warm eyes.

“Only if you let me call you Draco.”

***

When 5.30pm comes about, Harry is leaning against the wall outside the Post Office, waiting impatiently for Draco to finish work and trying not to fidget too badly. There is a café nearby he wants to take him to; it has a wonderful clear view of the Cathedral, white stone gleaming golden in the late afternoon sunlight. He hopes Draco will approve of the setting for their first date ( _and how excited is he to be able to call it that?_ ). At the thought, he self-consciously straightens the cuffs of his shirtsleeves and runs a hand through his mop of hair, trying fruitlessly to tame it a little.

Just then Draco walks out of the front door with the other three Muggle girls that have been working the afternoon shift. All four are laughing and chatting about their plans for the evening. Spotting Harry, Draco’s smile widens, grey eyes shimmering when they drift over him standing there looking hopeful. The girls notice his distraction immediately, and all three turn to look at Harry appraisingly. One of them, a tall brunette with a short elfin haircut, nudges Draco slyly in the ribs, throwing glances between him and Harry. She says something only the four of them can hear and Draco groans, but still laughs along with others. Harry knows they are talking about him and flushes slightly, but Draco is obviously more entertained than upset. This new affable, capable, laughing-along-with-Muggles Draco is fascinating; Harry can’t wait to get to know him better.

Draco parts from his co-workers and walks over to him, all lithe and graceful and a touch predatory; Harry tries and fails to quell a shiver of anticipation. Then Draco is standing in front of him and Harry is enthralled by the sunrays glinting off his fair hair and rendering it as spun white gold, the sheen of his full pink lips, his pale eyebrows and eyelashes, the glint in his expressive grey eyes. With the sun behind Draco, Harry could almost believe he is looking at an angel; except no celestial angel would ever smirk in such a filthy, suggestive way as Draco is doing right now. Draco looks as if he is imagining all the things he wants to do to Harry now that he has him alone, and heat shimmers throughout Harry’s body, combusting in his lower belly.

Harry wants to lick the smirk from those flirty lips, wants to pin Draco to the wall and show him _exactly_ what his _look_ is doing to his insides. Draco has taken off his tie and undone the top two buttons of his work shirt, leaving it gaping, and Harry can’t tear his eyes away from the vee of bare skin just below his eye level. The pale skin exposed to Harry’s covetous gaze does funny things to his impulse control. He wants to sink his teeth in that unblemished expanse, mark Draco as his so that everyone can see that he has staked his claim; at the same time he wants to kiss it tenderly, trail his fingertips over it, caress it with his lips until Draco is purring beneath him. The duality of his needs, the impulse to possess warring with the impulse to protect, even from himself, threatens to tear him apart.

He must have completely zoned out because there are fingers touching his hand where it fists by his side, and Draco’s voice filters through the fog in his head – he must have been trying to get Harry’s attention for some time. The smirk is gone, replaced by something that looks very much like concern. Harry finds he likes that look on Draco’s face.

“S-Sorry. Sorry, Draco, I was miles away. Shall we go?”

“…If you’re sure you’re alright?”

“I am. It’s just—“ Harry’s embarrassment tries to stop him from speaking, but he finds he can’t bear to see Draco upset, so he takes the plunge. “It’s just that you’re mesmerising.” He blushes furiously and looks away from Draco’s startled expression. He is absolutely mortified – he should never have blurted that out – he’s coming on too strong and going to scare Draco away—his thoughts scatter at the feel Draco’s fingers intertwining with his own. His humiliation seems to be worth it when he looks up into grey eyes now glowing with something quite different and the smug smile that lights up Draco’s face.

“You look absolutely adorable when you blush,” Draco teases, and Harry scowls at him, although there’s no heat in it.

***

They walk to the café in comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company. Harry is even more aware of their height difference, having to speed up his strides to keep up with Draco’s longer legs. He loses himself in a daydream of how those slim, toned legs would feel wrapped around his hips, flexing to pull him closer, and by the time they reach the café he is almost drooling with suppressed lust. Needing a moment, he tells Draco to find a table outside and make himself comfortable while he disappears inside to place their order.

Shortly after, a much more composed Harry reappears outside, carefully balancing a tray with two coffees and two tall ice-creams on it. The glint in Draco’s eye when he sees the latter assures Harry of the brilliance of his idea.

“What is this?” Draco asks, pulling the one Harry places in front of him closer, spoon already in hand.

“Raspberry and Butterscotch.”

Draco’s mouth drops open and his eyes widen adoringly on Harry.

“Merlin, Harry! Marry me! Those are my favourite flavours! _How_ did you know those are my favourites?” he frowns suspiciously at Harry’s knowing smirk.

The expression wrinkles his nose just so and Harry grins goofily. He fiddles with his own coffee-and-caramelised-pecan combination, stalling for time, giving his heart a chance to slow down from the palpitations Draco’s carelessly-thrown question has caused.

“I watched you obsessively in school, remember? You always picked out raspberry and butterscotch ice-cream.”

“Yes, and _you_ had an unhealthy attraction to treacle tarts, as I recall. Merlin, but we were oblivious back then! We could have saved so much wasted time if we had just pulled our heads out.”

Harry is slightly flummoxed, though he supposes that has more to do with the way Draco is fellating his spoon – it’s having a good go at short-circuiting his brain.

Seeing his confused expression, Draco snorts, a far cry from his poncey attitude back at Hogwarts. “Come off it, Harry! Let’s put our cards on the table. You obviously fancy me—what, did you think I was blind?”

Harry looks away awkwardly from Draco’s knowing gaze. It’s not until he feels a reassuring touch on the back of his hand that he looks back at Draco, only to find the gentlest smile on his face. The expression looks so foreign on a face that always used to scowl at him, that he can only blink at Draco for a moment.

“There's no need for that,” Draco murmurs. “I rather like you myself, if you hadn’t noticed.” He pauses, searching Harry’s face for something.

Harry chances a small smile at him, hope fluttering tentatively in his chest.

Draco’s lips twitch and he strokes his thumb leisurely against Harry’s pulse point. He opens his mouth, closes it, looks away for a moment; then takes a deep breath and faces Harry again, determination written in every line of his face. “This may be a bit sudden, but would you and Aunt Andromeda and Teddy like to come to lunch at the Manor this Saturday?”

If the huge grin spreading over Harry’s face isn’t answer enough, the squeeze of his hand and the eager nodding clinch the deal soon enough.

***

Saturday dawns bright and sunny, if just as stiflingly muggy as the past few days. Harry paces by the front door, feeling anticipation spike through him again and again; it’s only been a day since he last saw Draco and yet he can’t wait to be back in his company, a distinctly novel sensation when it comes to the two of them. They had parted almost unwillingly on Thursday evening, but Draco had promised his mother to be home for dinner, so they had only stayed at the café for another hour.

Teddy is beside himself with excitement; he seems to have missed Mrs Malfoy and Draco almost as much as his grandmother has. He also hasn’t stop talking about someone called Balthazar, whom Harry doesn’t know. He worries about that for a minute before deciding to just go with it.

Teddy tears through the house in a flurry of short limbs and platinum-blond hair, in honour of the occasion. Andromeda is more subdued, but Harry can tell she’s just as excited.

He offers Andromeda his arm and Apparates the three of them to the Malfoy Manor gates, Teddy clutching tightly onto his grandmother’s hand, staying still only for that instant alone. As soon as they arrive, the gates swing open in invitation. They had opted to Apparate rather than Floo, so that they could enjoy the walk through the Manor grounds that are bursting with greenery and colour. Harry’s eyes fly straight on Draco, unbearably handsome in cream linen trousers and white button-down shirt and looking like he has stepped out from the Evelyn Waugh novel that Hermione had forced on him a couple of years back (she had been appalled at Harry’s non-existent knowledge of the classics). Harry self-consciously hopes that his jeans-and-mint-green-shirt outfit is appropriate for a family lunch. The words twist and twirl in his belly and he wishes _so hard_ that he is able to keep this, whatever it is.

Draco smiles pleasantly and, ever the gracious host, offers his Aunt his arm to lean on. Andromeda, however, sends a sly look Harry’s way and elects to stroll on her own a little way after Teddy.

Harry is left smiling shyly at Draco, who has not moved from the spot. “Shall we?” he prompts.

Draco seems to start from his stare, blushing slightly. “Forgive me, Harry. You are simply too distracting for your own good,” he murmurs, surprising them both with his candidness.

Harry grins, delighted that he is not the only one driven to distraction by the other.

“Balthazar!” The yell splits the air and Harry starts from enjoying the stroll by Draco’s side. He looks ahead to see what looks like a miniature lion running enthusiastically over to Teddy, yowling all the way. Teddy falls on him with abandon, enthusing about how long it’s been since he’s seen his favourite kneazle.

“That thing is a _kneazle_? It looks enormous!”

“Yes, that’s my father’s pet kneazle,” Draco admits ruefully. “I’d think he feeds him growth potions if I didn’t know any better. He’s always been huge, even as a kitten. He’s appropriately named, my father likes to think – ‘Baal protects the king’. You can tell he hasn’t changed all that much.”

Harry tries to hide his grimace. Lucius will never be his favourite person, but his confession under Veritaserum at his trial had showed everyone that his absolute priority throughout the years had always been protecting and caring for his family. Lucius had thought the best chance of that lay with Voldemort; by the time he had realised his mistake, it had been too late to get away from him. Although Harry would never really warm up to Lucius, he could sympathise with his goals. And for Draco, he would make the effort to at least be civil with him.

Teddy has finally completed his reunion with Balthazar and is now walking alongside him up the drive. The Manor is already visible, the glowing white stone similar to that of Salisbury Cathedral. Harry can just make out Narcissa reclining in the shade on a _chaise longue_ by the entrance, waiting eagerly for her guests to make their way to her. As they get closer, he can see that she has lost some weight, but otherwise she looks healthy. She smiles delightedly at her sister and grand-nephew, cheeks rosy with colour. Teddy flings himself on Narcissa, hugging her legs tightly and proceeding to tell her of absolutely _everything_ that has happened since he last saw her. The report of their trip to Stonehenge and the lost-and-found postcard features prominently in his monologue. She smiles and bends to give him a kiss, telling him she’s very proud of him for trying new things. It is such a pleasantly serene domestic scene that it warms Harry up from the inside. He looks at Draco out of the corner of his eye, seeing his satisfied expression.

“Mother, you remember Harry?”

“Of course, Mr Potter. Welcome to the Manor. It is delightful to see you here, although I would have thought you might have visited us a bit sooner, if Mr Zabini is to be believed.”

Harry sees her smirk at Draco and he feels his cheeks flame in embarrassment. He is going to _murder_ Hermione when he sees her next! To his surprise, Draco is just as flushed as Harry. A suspicion slithers through Harry’s mind, fostered by Blaise’s knowing looks of late. _Interesting,_ his brain supplies. He makes a note to get it out of Draco by any means necessary. He tries to hide the devilish smirk twists his lips at the thought of said methods. Oh, he’s going to _enjoy_ this!

“Shall we go in?” Narcissa enquires serenely, seemingly oblivious to the twin looks of mortification she has caused, though the glint in her eye suggests she is much entertained. “Teddy, go wash your hands. Dromey, do come through and leave these young people to sort themselves out. Mr Potter, you should know we don’t stand on ceremony during family meals. Lucius and I both look forward to getting to know you better.”

Harry stares aghast at her retreating back until he feels Draco shift next to him and hears his heavy exhale.

“Sorry about that,” Draco winces. “You’re in for it now. They are going to drill you to within an inch of your life; both of them delight in watching me squirm. I feel like I should apologise for dragging you into the family,” he says sheepishly.

“Draco, what—“ Harry starts, bewildered and not a little uncertain of whether the signals he’s been getting can really mean what he thinks they mean.

Draco scrunches his forehead a little, once again searching Harry’s face intently. Harry’s certain that Draco can read him like a book, all open and tentative and hopeful. Draco sighs, a little puff of breath that teases Harry’s cheek as he twines his fingers through Harry’s and tugs him closer.

“Harry, don’t make me spell it out,” he whines, and Harry resists the urge to laugh at him, but only barely – happiness is bubbling throughout his body, trying to burst from his chest in a peal of giggles that Harry can’t quite tame. “What, you think I invite just anybody to lunch with all of my remaining relatives?” Draco goes on petulantly, but Harry is learning to read between the lines and the affection in his voice is so very obvious now.

Harry is well aware that what he is about to endure this afternoon would easily be classified as ‘torture’ in other circumstances. He is still going to kill Hermione when he next sees her. But, just maybe, after he buys her a huge bunch of flowers as thanks. Smiling into Draco’s kiss, Harry steps forward into his future.


End file.
